Once Upon a Time in New York City
by Asproy
Summary: Arthur Kirkland moves to NYC to escape his old life, but finds a new life and love in the city that never sleeps. USUK, other pairings may turn up. Human AU.
1. The Subway

Arthur Kirkland stood in line in the coffee house, his fingers aimlessly fiddling with the collar of his shirt as he impatiently waited for the well dressed gentleman at the head of the line to finish placing his order. A difficult task, it seemed to be, when one was trying to precisely describe the exact recipe for some exotic coffee based thing while ordering employees about on a cell phone and harshly criticising the apparently sleep deprived barista for not knowing exactly what a "penguin mocha" was. After the businessman finished, Arthur hesitantly walked up to the counter, glancing back at the angry hoard of customers.

The barista looked up from the registrar, a plastic grin on her face. "Hello welcome to Moondoe, may I take your order?"

Arthur looked at the menu again and hoped he knew what he was doing."Yes, I would like a cup of tea and-"

"What type?" interrupted the barista as she punched in some keys.

He was taken a bit aback by the question, how many types of tea could there be? "Erhm, do you have Earl grey?"

"Short, tall, grande, or venti?" she said, not looking up from the keypad.

Arthur was now certain that he had no idea what he was doing. "Tall I suppose." he said, hoping he wasn't mucking it up too badly. He had come here because he been in the city long enough yet to go shopping, he didn't realize ordering breakfast could be so difficult.

"Anything else?" the barista asked as she finally looked up at him.

"Yes, do you serve crumpets?" he asked. He had not seen the item on the menu, but he couldn't imagine a respectable cafe without them.

"A what?" she asked, looking at him as if he had asked them if they served haggis on a stick.

"A crumpet." Arthur replied, trying to force a smile.

"A crumpet?" The girl asked as she skeptically looked over her glasses at him.

Arthur hesitated, then launched into his description. "You see, it's this baked bread thing that's about this big and circular" he said, making a circle with his hands.

"An English muffin?" the girl asked, still slightly confused.

"Sure," he said, hoping he got his point across. What on Earth was an English muffin?

"With ham and eggs?" the barista asked, going back to the registrar.

"Sure," He said, at least this bit sounded promising.

"And is the tea for here or to go?"

"Here." Arthur said, wondering if that made much of a difference.

"That'll be twelve forty seven," She said as he pulled out his wallet and paid, smiling when he put a tip in the jar. As he grabbed his tea and wrapped "breakfast sandwich", if the receipt could be trusted, the girl called out, "Welcome to New York City." He shook his head, was his foreignness really that obvious?

He made his way around the booths, looking for a empty table in the packed coffeehouse, finally finding a small one next to the large windows that dominated the storefront. He unwrapped the sandwich and was delighted to discover that this English muffin thing was basically a crumpet. The tea didn't taste quite right, but no matter. Here he was, surrounded by loud and obnoxious yankees, who were yammering away on their cellphones, drinking their coffees out of paper to go cups while never leaving the store, while he had arranged for himself nearly the exact same breakfast he had always eaten at home in London.

He shook his head. No, he needed to stop thinking of London as "home". New York was his home now, and he needed to start thinking of it as such. Merry old England hadn't been too merry to him, well it had been before his father made him want to flee the country...again.

He had crossed the Atlantic when he had been offered a position at the illustrious New York Gazette. It was only a modest journalist/reporter position, but it paid much better than his previous gig as at a London paper as well as offering him a chance to escape the reach of his father, so he lept on the offer, scraped up enough money for a ticket, packed up, and headed out. His employer, a Mr. Honda Kiku, had arranged an apartment for him as well as a pass for the underground, and gave him the address of the building, as well as instructions on how to get there.

Thinking of the job, he checked his watch. He had twenty minutes until he had to get to his job and he had a feeling he would need all of them.

He returned the coffee cup and tossed away the wrap for the crumpet sandwich before heading outside. The air was cool and he tugged at his cuffs, wishing he had brought a coat. The sidewalk was overcrowded with people hustling about on their way to their jobs. He stopped at the street sign and tried to orient himself, the entrance to the underground had to be somewhere nearby, but Mr. Honda had not said exactly where. He looked around, normally there was a modest sign near a flight of stairs going down but Arthur didn't see one. He turned around and mentally chided himself. Three meters from where he stood was railing and and sign saying "subway". He had completely forgotten that was what they called it here.

Arthur made his way down the stairs, doing his best not to trip as the other commuters crowded around him as they descended. At the bottom he found three subway lines and a crowd of people waiting for doors to open. He tried to think back, which was he supposed to take? He looked around for a map, there had to be one somewhere nearby, unless it was considered obligatory to memorize one's route.

That seemed to be the case, there was no map in sight and the names of the lines might help a New Yorker, or at least someone with a general knowledge of the city. Arthur was neither.

Alfred Jones made his way down the subway car, grinning and waving at everyone he knew and a few who he didn't. The train was still fairly empty, considering that having been only one of the first stops and it being still fairly early in the morning, half an hour or so before the morning rush. Alfred finally reached his usual seat and sat down. After self consciously glancing around, he half turned so his face was reflected in the window and tried to pat down a persistent lock of hair that stuck up regardless of weather, static electricity, ten pounds of hair gel, or gunfire. Suddenly it went flat. Alfred gaped for a moment. "What the-"

"Kesesesese! There! The awesomeness of Inspector Beilschmidt has done it again!" Alfred turned around to see the gleeful face that was managing to disturb the otherwise quiet subway car.

"Hey! As an officer of the law I demand you cease and desist!" Alfred flashed the pale man his badge and a hundred watt smile.

"You cannot suppress the awesomeness of GILBERT!" Gilbert replied.

A figure in the corner of the car looked over his newspaper and pushed his glasses up his nose bridge. "Seriously, Mr. Jones and Mr. Beilschmidt? Everyday? Has it ever occurred to that everyone else on this train manages avoid being a public menace?"

"Our apologies to you, Mr. Edelstein." The two aforementioned public menaces chorused.

"Hmph. I have a good mind to call the police now, if I knew it would be any good. I tremble for this city when I think that you hooligans are the best policemen." Edelstein said before hiding his face behind the newspaper again.

"You should be trem-, huh?" Gilbert and Alfred turned to see a dark figure run into them and then off the train as it lurched to a stop. Both quickly checked their pockets. Alfred's eyes widened. "My wallet!"

Gilbert, reassured that all his valuables were intact, waved as Alfred dashed off the car in pursuit of the pickpocket. "Go be the hero! The awesome me demands it!"  
Alfred leapt onto the pavement of the subway station and ran after the rapidly retreating pickpocket. The most of the crowd parted before the two running men. Alfred tripped over the leg of a bystander and went sprawling onto the ground to the general chorus of "Hey watch it!" and a few vulgar oaths. The dark man looked over his shoulder and laughed at his unfortunate pursuer, whilst continuing to charge earlong through the subway station.

Alfred unsteadily scrambled to his feet and followed his taunting quarrying, looking down every few seconds to prevent a repeat of his earlier fall. The man looked over his shoulder- and ran right into an oblivious bystander.

Both the pickpocket and the bystander fell to the ground with a dull thud. The man in black quickly extricated himself from the pile of limbs and fled out of the subway station. Alfred stopped in front of the bystander and bent down, catching his breath. "Fucking pickpocket," He said between gasps.

"Ex-excuse me, is this yours?" The bystander asked in a English accent, holding out a leather wallet in one hand. Alfred looked down at the wallet. "Yeah, it is! Thanks!" he replied before taking the proffered wallet and returning it to his pants pocket.

"You're welcome." He tried to regain his feet but Alfred grabbed his hand and pulled his up.

"Thank you," he said as he dusted off his clothes.

Now that they were both upright, Alfred the looked the man over. He was considerably shorter than Alfred, not that that was unusual, Alfred towered over most of New York at well over six feet, and this man's lean frame hardly reached his jaw. He was wearing a neatly pressed shirt and slacks and had a pen clipped onto his shirt pocket. His hair was a lighter blonde than Alfred's and his eyes were a shocking shade of green. As soon as he realized the American was looking at him, he blushed and looked downward.

"Pardon me, I seem to have forgotten my manners," he said, lifting his head again to look the taller man in the eye and sticking out his right hand. "My name is Kirkland, Arthur Kirkland. I'm pleased to meet you."

Alfred hesitated for a moment then engulfed Arthur's hand with both of his and shook enthusiastically. "Not nearly as pleased as I am! Thanks again for getting my wallet, I would have been lost without it."

The Englishman blushed again. "Don't mention it, the man dropped when he collided with me and I merely picked it up and returned it to you.."

Alfred laughed. "That's more than most New Yorkers would do. You're new to here aren't you? When did you leave Old York, or London or wherever? Yesterday?"

Arthur looked at his feet. "Actually, yes."

"Ha, I hit the nail right on the head." Alfred chuckled, looking at the bemused man.

"Is it really so obvious?" Arthur asked, glancing at himself.

"To put it honestly, yes." He then offered, "Do you need any help"

Arthur blushed again. "Actually yes, do you know which subway will take me to West fifty-ninth street? My employer gave me instructions but-" he looked at his feet as he shuffled them. "it seems I've forgotten them."

Alfred patted the Englishman's shoulder. "It's nothing to be ashamed about, many people new to New York get lost. Here, take that subway that just pulling in, it's the-" he counted off the stops on his fingers. "third, fourth, fifth; fifth stop."

"Thank you, good bye!" Arthur rushed toward the train, jerking his hand out of Alfred's grip, then blushing when he realized they had been holding hands the entire time. "O, and you have a paperclip in your hair!" he called back.

Alfred watched the man scurry away, then felt through his hair and removed a paper clip. "That damn albino" he laughed to himself. He walked toward the subway that would take to the office, then paused and swore to himself. He had forgotten to give Arthur his name.

* * *

Author's note: Thank you for reading. This is my first romantic story and any help is appreciated. I apologize for all misrepresentations of New York and the out a characterness. I've haven't yet decided on an update schedule. Finally, I am in search of a better cover image, if you know of or have one I may use, please message me. Thank you and have a nice day.


	2. The Badge and the Pen

The rest of the commute had proven itself uneventful. The American had been right about the number of stops and building had be easy to find. Arthur strode through the massive double doors in time to see Mr. Honda and a tall, blonde woman come out of the elevator. Raising a hand he half jogged over to them.

turned to greet him as he reached them. "Greetings , I trust that you did not have many difficulties this morning." he said with a slight bow.

"Good morning ," Arthur said with a nod, "It was not difficult, thank you for your concern," lying easily. He did not want his boss to think he was incompetent after all. Arthur turned to face the women, "And who is this lovely lady?"

"Forgive me, I have been negligent. , this is our junior editor, Miss Anri." Honda said, introducing them.

"A pleasure to meet you Mr. Kirkland," Anri said, holding out her hand.

Arthur bowed down and brushed his lips against her hand. "The pleasure is entirely mine."

Honda looked at his watch. "I am afraid I must go, I have a meeting in ten minutes. Anri, could you show Mr. Kirkland around the building?"

"Of course," Anri turned around and lead Arthur toward an open elevator. "We're on floor number seven," she said punching the button on the elevator.

As they rode to their floor, Anri briefed Arthur on the schedule and the other employees.

"This is it," Anri said as the doors opened, revealing a modern open plan office. She lead him over to an empty desk. "I know it's not much, but it works for us," she apologized as she showed him his workspace.

Alfred thanked her and sat down. He looked over his desk, he had a computer, an organizer with office supplies, two paper trays, and a printer that looked as though it had survived a nuclear armageddon or ten, but worked when he printed a test copy. Satisfied with his situation, he began to work, continuing an article on the state of the European Union Mr. Honda had requested after Arthur's successful interview. He hammered away at the keyboard for a couple hours without looking at the time. After Arthur finishing the article, Mr. Honda came by and inquired as to how things were going and whether Arthur could take over a scheduled interview for a local story after the planned interviewer called in with a case of the flu. Arthur readily agreed and spent the rest of the hour researching his target.

Finally satisfied that he knew as much as he had to know for the interview, he stood up and stretched. Noticing a couple other people clustered around the water cooler, he decided this was a great time to take a break and maybe get to know someone. As he approached Anri waved him over and the man she was talking with turned around and smiled at him. Arthur stopped in shock for a moment, the similarities between this man and the boisterous man who helped him earlier were striking, in spite of the fact this one was much shorter. He cleared his head of the thought, this was a large city, there was bound to be a few doppelgangers.

Anri introduced the two men as Arthur held out his hand, "Arthur Kirkland, this is Matthew Williams one of our other journalists, Matthew, this is the new guy."

Matthew shook Arthur's hand, "May we call you Arthur?"

"Certainly," Arthur replied, doing his best to appear amiable.

The three of them chattered for a few minutes.

"Do you have any plans for lunch?" Anri asked.

"No, I must admit I even forgot when it is." Arthur responded apologetically.

"It's in half an hour, you can join us," Matthew offered.

"Thank you," Arthur said, grateful that at least he would be able to find a meal and the office again, he had been in some doubt that he could.

After some final research for the interview Arthur joined Anri and Matthew at the elevator. "So Arthur, do you like sandwiches?" Anri asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course," he said, the slightest bit confused at the raised eyebrow..

"Good, there's a great sandwich shop across the road," Matthew said and led them out of the elevator and across the road.

Arthur let the two of them advise him on his menu choice, he had no desire to repeat the morning's miscommunications at the cafe. They settled down together at a booth overlooking the city streets with their orders and began to eat and converse.

The conversation shifted from work to personal life. "So, tell us about yourself, Arthur. Why'd you come here, where you're from, that sort of thing." Anri asked curiously, before diving back into her sandwich.

Arthur hesitated, wondering how much he should to tell. "Well, I'm from Reading, a town outside London," he clarified, noting the confused expressions on his companions faces. "I worked at a couple London papers, none of which paid too well. I looked around for a better paid job and landed an interview with Mr. Honda, so now I'm here." he shrugged.

"Where your parents happy with you leaving home and crossing the Atlantic?" Matthew asked.

"We were never really close after I grew up," Arthur answered noncommittally before changing the subject.

"Anri, that isn't an American name, where is it from?" he asked.

"I think it's Flemish," she said, then clarified. "Both my parents are from Belgium."

"Really? Have you ever been there?" Arthur asked, more for the sake of continuing the conversation then curiosity.

"Yeah, every other year when I was young we went to visit my grandparents and then in college my sorority sisters and I went on a tour of Europe, so that was fun. Now I'm 's unofficial continental Europe advisor, I get sent there quite often for stories. I expect that you'll be in charge of the British Isles and the former empire after he runs you through your paces."

She then turned to Matthew, "Now it's your turn to hold up the conversation, Arthur and I need to chow done."

Matthew smiled. "Alright, I'll bore both of you by telling you my life story. My brother and I were born in-"

"Pardon my interruption, you have a brother?" Arthur repeated incredulously.

"Yeah, we're fraternal twins. As I was saying, we were born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Our dad is a pastor there, so we were raised pretty traditionally. My brother was and still is a really outgoing guy. I was more shy and people often mistook me for him. My best friend was our albino chow, Kumajirou. When we went to college and I came out of my shell, both of us went to New York to pursue our careers. Mum wasn't happy." he laughed.

The conversation switched over to other topics until...

"Oh look at the time, lunch break over in zero minutes." Anri exclaimed looking at the clock on the wall. They quickly finished up their meal and tossed the trash in the provided trash and recycling receptacles by the door. The three companions dashed across the street with the little regard for traffic or crosswalks. They managed to jam themselves into the crowded elevator and waited nervously for the elevator to reach their floor. The doors opened and they scrambled over to their desks before Mr. Honda came out of his office, feeling like little schoolchildren.

Honda came over to Arthur's desk. He gulped, feeling irrationally terrified.

"I can tell you had a satisfying lunch," the Japanese man said amused, pointing to the corner of his mouth.

"Huh, oh, thank you." Arthur wiped a bit of mayonnaise from his mouth with his handkerchief, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Should I tell you how to get to the police department for the interview?"Honda offered.

"Why do I have to do this?" Alfred groaned. He had come in from his morning patrol, hamburger wrapper in hand, discreet ketchup splatter on uniform, ready to have a pleasantly violent lunchbreak with Gilbert and Jett, when the front desk gave him a note that Chief of Police Beilschmidt was waiting for him in his office. Ludwig greeted him with a reminder that he had an interview with the New York Tribune in less than half an hour, much to Alfred's dismay.

"I've told you this before, had me in a compromising position and debated me into allowing the interview." Ludwig said, returning to the papers on his desk.

"But why me?" Alfred asked again, clearly frustrated.

"You were in charge of the operation." He dismissed Alfred with a wave of his hand.

Alfred walked out the door "Fine, I'll do it." Then he stuck his head back in. "Why is Mr. Honda allowed to blackmail you?"

Ludwig looked up at Alfred with icy blue eyes, "There was no blackmail involved."

As Alfred turned around he thought he heard the German say "at least none that I minded."

Alfred made his way out of the office area and headed toward the locker rooms. The rest of his lunch break was shot he thought as he glanced at his stained shirt. Why did he decide that today was the day to add extra ketchup to his hamburger?

Two minutes later he was standing in front of his open locker, dismay bubbling up in the pit of his stomach as he realized there wasn't a single clean uniform in the locker, only the civilian clothes he had worn in the morning coming to work and a pile at the bottom of the locker of dirty uniforms that he had told himself to take home and wash. Alfred carefully weighed his could just do his best to wash out the tomato stain and hope for a visually impaired interviewer with a broken camera. Asking to borrow someone else's uniform was also an option, but the borrowed uniform would certainly not last option was quickly becoming the most attractive, he would wear the leather bomber jacket and jeans and excuse the attire by saying he had been an undercover cop that morning.

He changed his clothes and flashed a grin into the locker room mirror. The hero was ready for his interview.

Alfred strode toward the boardroom where the interview was to be held. His raised hand froze halfway on its way to knock on the door. He calmed his nerves and rapped lightly on the door.

"Come in," said an unmistakable voice, followed by the sound of footfalls and the door was flung open to reveal a pair of crimson eyes less than four inches from Alfred's face. Alfred stepped back,

"Wha- what are you doing here? I thought your brother normally talks to the journalists." he said trying to regain his composure.

A look of absolute innocence came onto Gilbert's face. "He came in, asked for a Mr. Beilschmidt, and I'm a Mr. Beilschmidt, so I lead him here. "

"I thought you weren't allowed to terrorize civilians anymore." Alfred said, amused.

"The awesome me does not terrorize, only entertain," Gilbert miffed as he left the room.

Alfred turned to the table, which was empty aside from a small stack of papers, a laptop, and a recorder at the far end of the table where the journalist had situated himself and was currently writing something on a notepad. He stood up and held out his hand for Alfred to shake. "Arthur Kirkland, I'm the journalist for the New York Tribune. Pleased to meet you."

Alfred took the proffered hand then looked at the man's face, and took a small step back. Standin there, large as life (which admittedly wasn't very large, at least from Alfred's perspective) was the adorable British man from the subway.

"I hope gilbert didn't give you too much of a hard time, I'm Alfred F. Jones, of the NYPD. Didn't I meet you earlier on the subway?" He inquired, looking into the emerald eyes.

"Yes, as a matter of fact we did. You were chasing after that pick-pocketing bloke." Arthur replied, "At the time I wondered why you didn't just call for a bobbie, er, sorry policeman, but it makes sense now, you are a policeman."

Alfred chuckled, "Yes, that would be weird."

Arthur glanced at the wall clock. "Better begin with the interview." He flipped open his notepad and turned on the recorder. "This is Arthur Kirkland interviewing Alfred Jones. First question Mr. Jones: How did you perform the investigation on the murder of Vash Zwingli?"

"It really was a team effort. He had been found dead in an alley a couple of blocks from the bank where he worked. It seemed plausible that someone had followed him from the bank."

"Why was he walking home?" Arthur interrupted, scribbling furiously on the notepad.

"From what his neighbors said he was a very frugal man. Never seemed to want to spend any money. He left behind a teenage sister, she sobbed hysterically. Kinda makes you wonder, what if he had taken the taxi home from work, walked in the other direction and got on the subway. Maybe we wouldn't have to be the heroes and find that perp."

The interview continued for the better part of the hour until the tape recorder clicked as it reached the end of the cassette. They both looked at it for a moment, uncomprehending.

Alfred broke the silence, "I guess that signifies my turn to ask the questions," he said with a wide smile. "What's your boss doing sending a guy out on the interview on his first day?"

Arthur blushed and looked at his hands. "The chap who was originally supposed to do it called in sick, said he had the flu. I was the only one available."

"That explains it, Mr. Honda never struck me as the type to send out a newbie on an interview." He put a comforting hand on Arthur's arm. "Don't worry you did good."

Arthur's cheeks turned an even rosier shade of red. "Thank you. How do you know Mr. Honda?"

"He's...friends with the police chief, the other Mr. Beilschmidt." he said as he shrugged.

A knocker at the door declared that the next patrol would be in ten minutes and that they should hurry.

"Well, I guess that concludes the interview," Alfred stood up and walked toward the door, then turned around. "Do you want to meet up tomorrow at six for coffee?"

* * *

Author's note: Thank you for reading and the my apologizes for the late update and the ooc-ness. I will be using more hetalians as minor characters, if there's anyone you want to see, just say it in the reviews or else private message me. Once again, thank you for reading.


	3. Cushions and Coffee

Alfred stumbled out of the elevator, and slumped against the wall. His last shift had ended at nine and frankly, he was exhausted and hungry. He made his way to his door and searched his pockets for the key ring. Alfred fumbled with the keys to the apartment, before jamming the correct one into the keyhole and forcing the door to open with his shoulder. Another thrust and the door opened enough for him to slip inside. He leaned against it and the door reluctantly closed. He gave it a reassuring pat, as much as his brother implored him to replace it or at the very least grease the hinges, Alfred would never fix it. He thought it was the best security system in the Bronx, and he said so.

He wondered for a moment where Matthew was before opening the fridge in quest of dinner, only to see a lonely yogurt and a half empty quart of milk with a sticky note on it saying that Matthew had gone to Veneziano's grocery for provisions. Sighing he took the yogurt and sat on the sofa that doubled as his bed in the apartment that he and his brother shared. He flipped through the channels on the telly before deciding to watch a rerun of Smallville. Alfred snuggled up to the Captain America shield pillow Gilbert had given him for his birthday and sadly gazed at the now empty yogurt sitting on the sofa arm. Matthew couldn't come home fast enough.

He was jolted out of his stupor by a thumping coming from the door. Alfred yelled "Coming," and struggled to his feet. He scrambled to the door and wrenched it open, wearing the expression of a famished wolf. Matthew stood in the doorway, his face hidden behind the two paper bags he was carrying.

"Could you help me with these?" Matthew grunted.

"Oh, yeah, sure!" Alfred said, grabbing the bags and making a beeline for the kitchen and setting the bags on the counter. "Let's see, what have we here?" He said, going through the bags. "Lettuce, ketchup, maple syrup (of course), you remembered hamburgers!" Alfred exclaimed, scooping up his brother in a tight hug.

Matthew struggled out of his brother's grip with the mutter "Men do not hug".

Alfred, however, was distracted by the other foodstuffs on the counter. "Mattie, why'd you get waffles?" He asked, frowning. "You always get pancakes."

Matthew's cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. "I-I thought it would be a good idea to try something different. Not a bad idea, ay?" He said, his voice falling into a Canadian accent.

"Yeah, what are we having for dinner?" Alfred asked, distracted by the new enticements the fridge had to offer.

"I've already eaten," Matthew said before turning his attention to the television and flipping through the channel. "Make yourself something, I'm fine."

"Alright!" Alfred turned his attention to the fridge. With the elegance and refinement of a buffalo, he dumped approximately half of the foodstuffs, which Matthew and he had put away, onto a plate until the pile resembled, to the keen and highly imaginative eye, a hamburger. The plate was shoved into the microwave and Alfred watched the plate rotate with eager trepidation.

Matthew gave up on searching the channels and did what every person who can't find something decent to watch did. He tuned into the news channel, just in time for the broadcast to switch from some mildly entertaining human interest story to the weatherman gesturing in front of a map with a vapid grin.

Alfred walked over to the couch with his hamburger and plummeted into the seat cushion next to Matthew.

"It's going to be cloudy again tomorrow," Matthew muttered as he scooched over to regain some elbow room.

"Yeah," Alfred said between bites.

"Wouldn't it be nice if it wasn't?" His brother said wistfully.

"Wasn't what?" Alfred asked,

Matthew gestured to the window. "Cloudy."

"Oh."

The two brothers looked at the window for a moment, before Alfred changed the subject. "So, how was work today?"

"Fine, I suppose. There was a new guy in the office today." Matthew replied while fiddling with the remote. "Anri and I- "

"Anri?" Alfred asked.

"That girl that I eat lunch with. Haven't I told you about her? Anyway, Anri and I invited him to join us for lunch. We talked a bit, went back to work, finished up an article, then I went home. It wasn't a terribly interesting day, ay?" He added lamely.

Alfred paused and knitted his brow. "Wait, this new guy of yours, he didn't happen to be a British dude?"

"Yeah, he was." Matthew answered, confused.

"Slightly shorter than you are, pale hair, and " Alfred made an abstract gesture toward his eyebrows.

"You must have looking in through the window, that's him in a nutshell." Mathew said, surprised. "How did you know?"

"I was interviewed by him today." Alfred said into the plate. "I invited him out to coffee."

Matthew quirked an eyebrow.

"It's nothing like that!" Alfred added defensively. "He just seemed like-"

Matthew stopped his brother mid sentence. "Don't worry I won't tell Dad,"

"It's still nothing like that." Alfred muttered. "Even if I wanted it to be. There's a one in a hundred chance he's queer and if he were he wouldn't like a guy like me."

Matthew put a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder. "Why so serious? Worst case scenario you and he don't get along and become sworn enemies and never see each other again, because, if you haven't realized it, this is New York."

"That's a cheerful thought, Mattie." Alfred grumbled.

"I'm not finished yet." Matthew said, giving Alfred a playful stinkeye. "And the best case scenario is that you'll meet a great guy, run away together and become the crime fighting duo known as the Heroic what-have-yous." he finished.

"Heroic what-have-yous? I hope not." Alfred said in horror.

"If you've resorted to mocking my superhero name efforts to cheer yourself up, why don't you give him a call to, you know, make sure he knows where you're meeting him and stuff?" Matthew suggested. "I'll be over there" he pointed at his bed, then stretched and yawned. "trying to sleep. Remember to put away the dishes."

"That's not a half bad idea." Alfred took the plate and dumped it into the sink, then fished his cell phone out of his jacket along with the business card Arthur had given him. he dialed the number then waited.

"Hello?" A groggy voice said over the telephone.

"Hi! Is this Arthur Kirkland I am speaking to?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Great! This is Alfred Jones, from the interview. About that coffee..."

Arthur checked his hastily scrawled writing on the piece of notebook paper he held in his hand and looked up at the coffee house's sign, which proudly proclaimed it the Black Hound. Satisfied that the addresses matched, he went inside.

Inside, the coffee house was a world away from the MoonDoe he had visited the day before. It was calmer, people sat here and checked their phones, but they were so much less annoying. Something about the shop just seemed so much more relaxed and cozy. Then again, it might have something to do with the fact that it was nine thirty on a Saturday. This shop, he thought as he ordered a cup of tea, could be transported to London's Soho district and no one would be the wiser, aside from the fact this coffee house did not serve alcohol or seem in the slightest way tacky.

He found himself an empty table next to the wall and sat down with book and tea in hand. It would be best to wait for the Alfred to arrive before ordering anything heartier he decided. The man would probably be late, if anything he had ever heard about Americans was true.

A few minutes later he looked up from his book and checked his watch. Yes, the man was late. Exactly five minutes, so far. Just as he suspected. Americans were highly predictable. Well, not quite. He had not been expecting the phone call in the middle of the night. As glad as he was about knowing where to meet him, he could do without Alfred interrupting his sleep. Mustn't grumble though, if that was how the Yankees did it, that's how the Yankees did it. He just hoped it wasn't a habit.

And speak (or rather, think) of the devil (or devilishly handsome, Arthur thought before chiding himself), through the door walked in the unmistakable tower of well built human know as Alfred Jones. He looked around the coffee house. Arthur beckoned raised his hand, Alfred noticed him and came ambling over.

"Hi, Arthur. What are you reading?" He asked, leaning over Arthur's shoulder and looking at the pages.

"A book." Arthur replied while discretely slipping the hardcover into his briefcase.

"About what?" Alfred replied, smiling.

"People, who do...things." Arthur answered, his cheeks turning faintly pink.

Alfred thought for a moment. "What sort of things?"

"Important things." Arthur said with his most serious expression on.

"So important you can't tell me?" Alfred said, his face becoming grave.

Arthur nodded. Their poker faces fell as they chuckled at the absurdity.

"Are you planning on lurking over my shoulder all day or do you want to sit down?" Arthur asked, careful to let some mild annoyance slip into his voice.

Alfred considered the question. "Maybe. This is a nice shoulder to lurk over." He set a massive hand on the Englishman's shoulder, causing Arthur's cheeks to resemble roses in color.

"I need to get more tea." He hastily excused himself and started to rise, but Alfred's hand pushed him back down.

"I'll get you some. I need a coffee and something to eat anyway. Do you want something to eat?" Alfred asked as he straightened up and stretched.

"Yes," Arthur said, reaching for his wallet.

"It's on me." Alfred said, waving away the proffered dollar bill. "What do you want?"

Arthur wondered for a moment if it would be a good idea to ask for a scone before deciding not to risk it.. "Anything. I'm not picky."

"Alright," Alfred said over his shoulder as he went to the counter.

A few minutes later Alfred returned to the table with two paper bags and a mischievous smile on his face.

"I've got the goods." He exclaimed with far more enthusiasm than Arthur felt the situation merited.

"Thank you," Arthur warily said as he reached for the paper bag closest to him.

Alfred picked up the two bags. "Not so fast," he grinned.

Arthur blankly looked at him

Alfred's smile grew wider. "First you have to guess what your pastry is."

So that was his game. Arthur narrowed his eyes and looked suspiciously at the bags. "Surely it can't be a doughnut?" he deadpanned.

The sarcasm flew straight over Alfred's head. "Nope, it actually is a doughnut," he cheerfully shook the bag. "Now guess which kind."

"A bismarck," Arthur guessed as he tilted his head, trying unsuccessfully to discern the shape of the thing.

"Nope," Alfred chortled. "Guess again."

"Ring. Apple fritter." Each suggestion he made was met with a headshake from Alfred.

Finally Alfred took pity on the increasingly hungry looking Englishman. "Would you like a hint?"

"Yes, please." Arthur said, exasperated.

Alfred thought for a moment. "Hm, it's about six inches long, two and a half inches inches wide, and filled with white stuff."

A horrified and embarrassed expression landed on Arthur's face and he was acutely aware of his cheeks' ever increasing temperature. Then the realization hit him. "A long John."

"Correct!" Alfred laughed, then handed the handed Arthur the doughnut and winked, "Enjoy,".Arthur took the doughnut and silently planned his revenge.

"How was your day?" Arthur asked sweetly as lapped the icing off the doughnut like a cat.

"Alright," Alfred said noncommittally, trying not to focus on Arthur's tongue as it slowly circled the long John. "Gilbert and I were out together until pretty late."

"Out late? You weren't being a bad boy were you?" Arthur teased innocently.

"No, we were on patrol." Now it was Alfred who felt the blood rushing to his cheeks as he watched Arthur take a bite, then lazily lick the icing off his fingers.

"At midnight-ish I came back home. Matthew, my brother, was out getting food. I think you met by brother, he works at Tribune too." Alfred mindlessly chattered, trying to distract himself.

"Mhm," Arthur hummed into his doughnut.

"How was your day?" Alfred asked, trying to regain control of himself.

"Fine," Arthur replied, finishing off the doughnut then looking mournfully at the absence before sucking the remaining frosting off his hand.

Alfred groped for a moment for a conversational topic. "Why did you leave England?"

"Money and boredom. Why do you ask?" Arthur replied, sizing up the American.

"Well, you don't seem the type to just get up and abandon your life on a whim. You seem more...rooted." Alfred said, hoping Arthur would not be offended by his choice of words.

"You could say that about my entire family." Arthur muttered.

"Well, the English apple doesn't fall far from the English tree." Alfred jested.

"It does if the tree hurls it." Arthur said, turning his attention to his napkin.

"Hurls?" came Alfred's reply.

Arthur searched for the right words. "My family's not entirely pleased with me."

"Why?"

"They're all very conservative and I'm, I'm bent." Arthur finally managed.

Alfred was now even more confused. "Bent?"

"You know, queer." Arthur said into his tea.

"Oh!" Alfred felt himself grinning maniacally "Well, in that case, want to turn this into a date? I know this great Chinese place."

Arthur blushed again. "We just ate!"

"Then you'll just half to stay with me until you're hungry again. Are you up for it?" Alfred dared. "Come on!"

Author's Note: I'm sorry about the ridiculously late update, a lot of things got in the way. I hope the wait was worth it and thank you for reading.


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